


Angel/Flesh

by orphan_account



Category: Constantine (2005), Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Angels, F/M, Ficlet, Post-Canon, Transgender, Weapons, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-23
Updated: 2008-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel makes a new life for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel/Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> One of the weirder fics I've written.

With mortality came sex.

Had Gabriel been allowed to choose, he would have chosen a body that comes with a spear of flesh and broad plateau of chest like a shield – for man was created in God's image, while Eve turned her ear to false advice. That, at least, was how the story went. Gabriel had been there, but it was a very long time ago, and the story, now, was what mattered.

Gabriel hated the breasts his new body came with, looking for all the world like a woman with unseemly studs in her back, even after everything plastic surgeons could do.

(His first few weeks as a human he had wandered the alleyways of the city, prey to hunger and heartache, and the despair of his new fellow creatures. He'd tasted bile, and thought: this is mortality. This is my death.

(But instead he'd found his way at last to his club, to his connections, to his wealth. Before then, he had never thought earthly wealth could so rival Paradise.

(He rose from the filth and discovered a mortal life he could lead, had he the acumen and resolve, and how could he not succeed? He was an angel, far superior in intelligence, in virtue – for he did not forsake God as he himself had been forsaken. In his disgrace, thoughts of Him On High kept him safe from collapse, protected him from the storms of his own shaken mind.

(His new world was money – his earthly protection its use. According to his tastes, skills, and private sacred designs, he took to the different forms of human warfare. Weapons were the future, as they were the past.)

Sex.

Gone was the habitual smoothness between Gabriel's legs, and never again would he possess the masculine flesh which he'd formed for himself before, to do the Lord's bidding, or to find pleasure with other angels. Here was something else, a receptive vial.

No. This would always be the other for Gabriel: not his own body: not the mortality, not the sex. This was not who he was.

He would be the strongest of all mortals. He could not be a woman. He wore his jacket bulky, and even as he spoke sweetly in the ear of his oafish, power-drunk client, he imagined her metal children, the whiplashes of divine justice, as extensions of what he did not have: the likeness of God in every man.

Man gives: woman receives.

He took the secretary of state in a storage room down a further corridor in this modern Babel, against a file cabinet. One arm Gabriel wound around the woman's waist, pushing her breasts against the sharp edge of the cabinet; with the other he plunged his long fingers into the woman's vial, again and again, wrist chafing against her uplifted skirt. He listened to her swearing and stammering her lust into the gloom, in whispers, using every word and euphenism she could find for _fuck me_. Gabriel felt a touch of reproach mingling with that twisted mockery of rapture which the sex act sometimes conjured.

'Thy sin is pride,' he whispered in the woman's ear. It was a lie, but even now, though banished, it was up to Gabriel to do the Lord's will. This woman needed to be humble; she needed to be servile. She had the emperor's ear, and the emperor must stay on course, for God's glory.

'The Lord forgives you,' Gabriel added, resting his head against the woman's back, listening to her drumming heartbeat at the moment when she sighed, almost as in pain, and Gabriel stabbed up one more time, feeling her tighten around his fingers, the wound embracing the dagger.

The woman sagged against the cabinet, still panting, and Gabriel licked his fingers dry, remembering other fluids of victory, and sharper weapons.

The secretary fixed him with a pleading look: asking for sex, for personal forgiveness, Gabriel knew not what. He simply smiled and kissed the woman's forehead in blessing. For a moment he felt love – the divine love of God for all his creations, however disgusting their forms, however often they made animals of themselves.

Gabriel was not one of them, of course. He was an angel.

Gabriel left her there with no other word. As he walked down, he snapped his cellphone open to call his manufacturers and let them know the size of the new order.


End file.
